


You Look Like I Need a Drink

by Parker_Haven_Wuornos



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Basically I just think they're gay and wanted to write about it, Episode AU s4 e05 The New Girl, F/F, Female Bonding, Missing Scene, Technically Canon Divergent I Guess, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25312417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker_Haven_Wuornos/pseuds/Parker_Haven_Wuornos
Summary: “You know what really bothers me?” Jennifer said after a moment.Jordan grunted and poured herself more scotch. She didn’t care at all what bothered her—she had enough of her own problems—but hearing it was probably inevitable.“I have been helping them for weeks. I gave up my whole life to come here and get some answers, but now Audrey or Lexie or whoever is back and I get shuffled off to the sidelines.”Jordan laughed. “Yep, that’s how they are.”Her new companion looked disappointed. “So, this isn’t a one-time thing?”“I’d expect it to keep getting worse.”
Relationships: Implied/Referenced Threegulls, Jordan Mckee/Jennifer Mason
Comments: 8
Kudos: 7
Collections: Haven Month 2020





	You Look Like I Need a Drink

**Author's Note:**

> My idea of a missing scene is where Jennifer and Jordan hang out, get drunk, and talk about how much they have in common. Technically Jennifer and Jordan are at the Gull at the same time, so this is only a *slight* au. This is a Wade Crocker hate zone, if you're a fan, proceed with caution. Please forgive any typos, I had to rewrite this in a day after my computer malfunctioned and deleted most of it.

Jordan didn’t go home. She didn’t even want to. She’d already damn near paced a hole in her shitty laminate floors and she didn’t want to keep doing that dance, to keep doing nothing at all.

But nothing was all Dwight and Vince seemed interested in doing. The rest of the guard were like her, pulling at the reins and dying to act, to fuck up Wuornos just for the sake of it.

And now she can’t.

Now they _need_ him.

And moreover, they need him to get the new Audrey—Jordan couldn’t even remember the bitch’s name, hell she wasn’t convinced it wasn’t a setup—to fall in _love_ with him.

Bile burned at her throat and her palms itched in her gloves. She hated them. She wanted to tear them off and throw them into the ocean while she flew down the coastal road, far above the speed limit and the limit of common sense.

She didn’t care about either of those.

Hell, if she managed to fling the car off the side of the road before she even got where she was going then the rest of her problems would disappear.

She didn’t. Whatever her feelings were, she couldn’t quite make herself wreck the car. Still, when she pulled into the Gull’s rough approximation of a parking lot, she was pleased with the wild spray of gravel.

The Gull was closed, the chairs up on the table and an uncomfortable quiet in the air. It had the peculiar smell of a place that was supposed to be full of people, and had somehow been caught empty.

Jordan liked it like that. She made herself at home behind the bar and pouring herself a shot of the first bottle she touched. It turned out to be well whiskey, which didn’t suit her purpose. As petty as it was, she wanted to make Crocker pay, and that wasn’t going to happen if she only drank the cheap stuff.

It was a necessary start though, one shot didn’t get her drunk, but it started to blur the lines enough that she could take stock of the various top-shelf bottles—some of which she knew for a fact weren’t available for distribution in the US—and choose one she liked.

She considered and passed on a fifteen-year-old South Carolina bourbon. It was fancy, most bottles going for a hundred bucks or more, but it would be too smooth. She wanted something with real bite, so she reached for a bottle of scotch, smiling when she broke the seal on it.

Even as pissed off as she was, she was above sacrilege, so she got herself a glass and poured herself some.

She drank the first one like water, which finally dulled the edge of her fury.

It didn’t manage to wash away her ability to think, to see Nathan in that field with Audrey or whatever her name was now. She should have shot him, but _no_ he was too special and important and necessary.

“Life’s a bitch,” She muttered, finishing her drink.

The door behind her opened. “We’re closed.” The voice was hesitant and high, more worried than authoritative.

Jordan turned around and saw the short girl, the one who’d been following Crocker around since he’d come back. Jordan had either never learned her name, or not bothered remembering it.

“I’m stealing,” Jordan said flatly.

“Can I join you?”

Rather than responding, Jordan turned back to her bottle. She was not in the mood for company.

Taking her ambivalence for agreement, the girl sat down, and studied Jordan. “You look like hell.”

She forced a bitter laugh that came out as more of a grumble. “I Just got back.”

The girl smiled, and Jordan couldn’t tell if it was because she recognized the reference or just thought Jordan was funny, not that she cared whether this stranger thought she was funny. She wasn’t here to be amusing, she was here to get wasted, and she wanted to get back to it.

“You know what really bothers me?” The girl said after a moment.

Jordan grunted and poured herself more scotch. She didn’t care at all what bothered her—she had enough of her own problems—but hearing it was probably inevitable.

“I have been helping them for weeks. I gave up my whole _life_ to come here and get some answers, but now Audrey or Lexie or whoever is back and I get shuffled off to the sidelines.”

Jordan laughed without humor. “Yep, that’s how they are.”

Her new companion looked disappointed. “So, this isn’t a one-time thing?”

“I’d expect it to keep getting worse.”

She sighed, then her face shifted, fixing into determined optimism so quickly and stubbornly that it was almost disturbing to watch. “I’m Jennifer Mason.” She held out her hand.

Pointedly, Jordan didn’t shake it. “Jordan McKee.”

“Hey, same initials,” Jennifer said cheerily. “We met during the blood thing, right?”

“Yeah, and I tried to shoot your boyfriend earlier.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jennifer corrected, breezing past the part where Jordan had tried to shoot him. “I thought maybe, but pretty much stopped hoping the second I saw him look at Nathan, and now that Lexie is here? I think I’m out.”

“Welcome to the club,” Jennifer said, pushing the bottle towards her. “Want to help me drink Duke’s expensive alcohol?”

She had little to offer in the way of advice, companionship, or comfort, but if Jen didn’t want to drink alone, then Jordan could indulge her.

Jennifer poured herself a shot and took it quickly, then coughed like a teenager. “Ugh, it tastes like… like something burnt?”

“It’s called peat,” Jordan said. “It’s part of the appeal.”

“I think I’ll stick to flavored vodka.”

“Not if you’re drinking with me,” Jordan said. “Hang on.”

She reached up and brought the bourbon down, pouring Jen a shot. “Here, try that; it’ll be smoother.”

With only a slightly skeptical look, Jennifer took the shot. She gasped a little, but it wasn’t quite a cough. “Oh,” She said quietly. “That’s good shit.”

Immediately, she covered her mouth, flushing.

Jordan gave her a skeptical look. “You’re not going to get in trouble,” She said. “You can swear as much as you want.”

Jennifer poured herself another shot. “In that case,” She said. “Fuck Duke Crocker.”

“Now that’s something I can drink to,” Jordan said, knocking her glass against Jen’s and drinking deeply.

Jennifer giggled. “Ugh, I’ve missed drinking. I already feel better.”

Jordan didn’t, but the smile on her face was surprisingly unfaked.

“It’s just so frustrating,” Jennifer said. “I’m so rarely attracted to men, especially not immediately like with Duke. I should have known something like this was coming. There’s always another girl, or guy—”

“Or girl and guy,” Jordan said with a snort. She ignored her racing heart, ignored the way her head was catching on those words _I’m so rarely attracted to men._

Of all the day’s revelations, that one shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care. She was Jordan McKee, tough enough to run with the boys, proud of her fury. She didn’t feel anything, not ever.

The others, McHugh especially, had teased her about Nathan, had joked that she seemed no fonder of her policeman pet than she was of her car. She’d laughed it off, casual. She was one of the guys—she had to be—so she accepted their jokes without comment. She would never try to explain to McHugh—whose trouble was so circumstantial and avoidable as to be almost completely irrelevant—what it was to live the way she did.

Sure, Nathan hadn’t been her type in any real sense, but he’d been tangible. He’d been someone she could touch without him screaming and passing out in agony. It hadn’t really been enough, in retrospect. They’d always been doomed to fail, but even with expectations as low as Jordan’s, she hadn’t expected them to fail as spectacularly as they had.

“So, what are you doing here?” Jennifer asked.

“Stealing Duke’s alcohol,” Jordan said, grateful for a distraction from her thoughts. “Wanted to take something back.”

Her own honesty surprised her, but Jennifer nodded as if it were the most logical thing she’d ever heard. “I’m supposed to be moving. Lexie needs her apartment back. Shouldn’t she live with Nathan if they want them to fall in love so bad?”

Jordan had seen Nathan’s place once, and that had been enough. “That wouldn’t help.” 

Jennifer laughed.

“It’s not fair,” Jordan went on, surprising herself again. “They can’t just kick you out.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s them though, they just take and take and damn the consequences.”

Her hand curled into a first, tightening the glove and reminding her that it was there.

Jennifer’s eyes were sympathetic, and Jordan prickled at the idea that she could see through her anger, that she knew what it really was. 

“Whatever,” Jennifer said. “Sucks living over a restaurant anyway. Duke’s brother throws parties.”

Jordan had heard about but not investigated the new Crocker, and relished a new reason to hate him, as if his name and his dormant trouble weren’t enough.   
“I’ll find a hotel or something,” Jennifer went on.

“You’re not leaving?” Jordan asked, a little surprised.

“I’m connected to this place, to the barn,” Jen said. “I can’t just leave and pretend this never happened, whether they like it or not.”

Jordan sized up Jennifer again, seeing the stubborn tilt of her pointed chin and liking it more than she could afford to.

“If they don’t like it,” She said recklessly, “Let me know. And talk to Mandy at the Over the Way; she’s an old friend she’ll give you a good room.”

Jennifer beamed. “Thanks. You know, you’re already more helpful than anyone I’ve met here.”

“That’s Haven for you,” Jordan said, ignoring the warm spread of pleasure at the compliment.

“So it’s always like this?” Jen asked. “The secrets and lies and terror?”  
“I don’t know about terror,” Jordan said. She hadn’t let herself be terrified in a long time. She was the woman who created pain, the human taser; she wasn’t allowed to be scared. “But secrets and lies are our bread and butter.”

“Great,” Jennifer said. “I was hoping for some answers. I spent weeks thinking I lost my mind and then I meet Duke and he says I’m not crazy, I’m troubled—”

“Whether or not there’s a difference is a matter of some debate,” Jordan interrupted dryly.

“—and the voices are quiet now but what did they mean? Why was I connected to the barn or whatever? Why me?”

“Don’t waste your time with that last one,” Jordan advised, pouring herself another glass, but not taking a sip from it. She’d spent too much time wondering why this had happened to her, wondering what cosmic force she’d pissed off.

The only answer was that life was random and it sucked. It wasn’t a comforting one.

“I was having a good day, and honestly a good life, I mean, I miss my parents, but I finally had my dream job, I had a nice place, I had good friends, then one day I hear all this screaming, and they told me it was in my head; they told me it wasn’t real. Generalized Anxiety Disorder with Psychotic Features, they called it.”

Jordan tried very hard not to think of Nathan giving her a similar speech about going to doctors, about being given a name for what was wrong with him.

Jordan hadn’t gone to doctors; the guard had come to her with more answers than she wanted. They had set her up with Claire, then hadn’t shrugged when Claire had kicked her to the curb for what she’d done to Daniel.

But she didn’t want to think about that. She took a sip, swallowing the burn and burying the memory of screams. “You said it was a normal day?”

Jennifer looked up. “Yes?”

“That’s not how it usually works.” She took another sip, smaller this time, aware that she was getting impractically drunk, aware that she was getting dangerously close to talking about things she never discussed. “It’s usually after something awful happens.” Or while it happened.

Jordan had thought it had been the worst day of her life, but really it had just redefined bad days.

Jennifer’s eyes were liquid as they searched Jordan’s face, deep and so dark they were almost reflective. “What…” She reached for Jordan’s hand, her question not quite asked.

Jordan jerked her hand away, afraid that Jen might accidentally brush against the skin between her sleeve and her glove, afraid to learn what it would sound like if she screamed.

“Maybe I’m not troubled?” Jennifer suggested, changing the topic clumsily. “What if I’m something else?”

“You’re either troubled or you aren’t.” Jordan fought to control her breath, forced herself to focus on what Jennifer was saying.

“What about Duke and Audrey?”

She liked the clear black and white of ‘troubled’ and ‘not troubled’. She didn’t want to think about Crocker or Audrey as troubled, because they weren’t like the rest of them. They weren’t like Jordan and Kirke and Dwight who were stuck with the curse they’d been given. Hell, Duke chose when to use his, and the rumor was that it felt _good_ when he did it.

The thought made Jordan nauseous. She couldn’t imagine feeling good when she hurt someone.

“What are they?” Jennifer pressed, “If they aren’t troubled?”

“I don’t know,” Jordan finally said.

“What am I?” Jen asked quietly.

“Troubled,” Jordan said decidedly, and her heart picked up when Jennifer beamed at her.

The smile was a little bleary-eyed and bourbon-softened, but Jordan hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.

But she didn’t want to think about it.

She shouldn’t think about it.

She couldn’t.

The door swung open, rescuing her from her thoughts.

“Excuse me, we’re closed.”

Jordan looked at him, noting that he’d entered with a similar line as Jennifer’s, but spoken differently, spoken like he thought she would have to listen to him.

He was tall, dark-haired, average-looking by her estimation. He would have been unremarkable if Jordan hadn’t seen the subtle shift in Jennifer as he walked in.

“Hi, Wade,” She said quietly.

Jordan stood, shifting enough that Jennifer was behind her as Wade walked around the bar to stand in front of them. “Wade Crocker,” She said.

He smiled, slow and emotionless. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I think I’ll keep it that way.”

This was a role she was used to playing. The ice queen McHugh and the others always joked about her being. 

They wouldn’t understand that sometimes a stone-cold bitch was the safest thing to be.

Her eyes flicked back to Jennifer, noting the way she sat, suddenly on guard where she had been relaxed leaning against the bar before. Her eyes were just barely wider and some of the drunk haze had cleared out of them.

They were subtle sorts of things, the kind of things other people might have missed, but Jordan knew what it looked and felt like to be afraid of a man. She knew what it looked like when an instinct kicked in. For whatever reason—and Jordan didn’t care what the reason was—Jennifer was afraid of him.

Jordan tugged one of her gloves off, preparing herself just in case.

“A little early for all that,” Wade said, noting the bottles on the bar. “What is it? Broken heart? Money problems? Looking for some—”

“None of your business,” Jordan said.

“This is literally my business,” Wade said. “I own the place.”

That snapped Jennifer into action. “No, you don’t,” She said in a voice that just barely shook. “Duke owns it.”

Wade’s face twitched; mentioning Duke had hit a nerve. _Interesting_. “Be that as it may—”

The door behind Jordan swung open, but she didn’t turn around to see who it was. She didn’t want to take her eyes of Wade and the predatory look on his face. She kept herself planted firmly between him and Jennifer.

“Wade.”

Relief rushed through Jordan at the familiar voice. Dwight was probably at the top of the list of people she would have wanted to show up in that moment. If they’d been heading towards a fight, there wouldn’t be one now; no one in their right mind picked fights with Dwight if there was any way around it.

“Jordan, can I have a minute?”

Jennifer still had the tense, unsure look; her eyes were fixed on Wade. 

Jordan nodded to Dwight and stood up, glancing back at Jennifer. “You coming?”

If Dwight thought it was strange that she was inviting Jennifer along, he didn’t comment.

The three of them walked out of the Gull. “I have something to show you,” Dwight said.

“I have to go—” Jennifer hiccupped “—finish packing.” She looked back at the bar hesitantly.

“Come with us,” Jordan said, fighting to sound more sober than she felt. “We’ll come back and help you pack later.”

Dwight opened his mouth to argue but Jordan locked eyes with him, arching one eyebrow. _Is this a battle you want to pick?_

Evidently it wasn’t, because he shrugged affably and opened the door of his truck.

“Are you sure?” Jennifer asked. “I mean, I’m not… I’m not in the guard.”

“You’re troubled,” Jordan reminded her. “And you want answers. You think Crocker and Nathan are going to give you them?”

Jennifer shook her head.

“Then come with us.”

Jen nodded and walked to Dwight’s truck next to Jordan.

He watched them. “What happened in there?” His eyes flicked to Jordan’s one ungloved hand.

Jordan looked at Jen. _Do you want to explain this one?_

“I uh, I don’t like how he looks at me, when Duke’s not around.”

Jordan gestured at Jennifer as if that answer explained everything, trusting that, for Dwight, it would.

“Duke says he’s going to get rid of him,” Dwight said.

“He’d better,” Jordan said. Even she had to admit that Duke wasn’t quite the killing-spree type, even if she didn’t like him. She couldn’t say the same about Wade. “I don’t trust him.”

“He doesn’t know about the Crocker curse.”

“Yet,” Jordan pointed out, waiting for Jennifer to get in the backseat before climbing in on the passenger side. “These things have a way of coming out.”

One of Dwight’s eyebrows arched up and Jordan felt her face heat up, noticing her phrasing and the subtle but unmistakable way his eyes darted between her and Jen.

“She’s troubled,” Jordan said quietly but insistently. “And she got screwed over by your trio of idiots just like the rest of us.”

“So, what? You’re giving her the new member package?”

Dwight’s voice had a slightly sharp note—as angry as he ever got—and Jordan ducked her head. She knew he wasn’t exactly on the guard’s side. He didn’t like that she was still with them, but she didn’t like that he was friends with Nathan and Duke, so they agreed to disagree. 

“I’m looking out for her,” Jordan said.

“You know I can hear you, right? The car’s not that big.”

Jordan flushed and looked away from Dwight’s barely-there smile, which meant he found something utterly hilarious. 

“I don’t need looking after?” She continued. “I can look after myself perfectly well.” She hiccupped again, which did little to reinforce her words.

Jordan thought it was cute.

Christ, she really must have been drunk.

“Trust me, you’ll want someone watching your back,” Jordan said. “If you trust the wrong people, it’ll get stabbed.”

Dwight leveled a slight glare that was more chiding than angry. “It can be hard to tell who the wrong people are.”

“I think I know,” She said evenly, her lip twitching.

Dwight swung the truck especially hard as he turned onto the highway and Jordan’s stomach churned. It took all her strength not to gag. Something about the look on Dwight’s face made her think he’d done it on purpose.

“I know too,” Jennifer said, and Jordan caught the stubborn set of her chin in the rearview mirror.

“We have a plan, Jordan,” Dwight said. “The only plan we know of that has any shot at working.”

“A shot at working?” Jordan asked, biting.

“Lexie will fall in love with Nathan—”

“Have you _met_ him?”

A snort escaped Dwight at the same time as Jennifer hiccupped a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Jordan insisted. “This plan is impossible and—” She coughed a little, the scotch getting the better of her for a second and almost freeing a tear. “I can’t be like this forever.”

She didn’t have to endure Dwight’s sympathetic stare for too long because he pulled into what looked like an empty lot and gestured for them to follow him.

Jordan almost missed the bunker, an abandoned cold-war structure the guard probably kept on hand for bad troubles. Dwight pulled the door open and led them down a narrow ladder.

There was a narrow cot pushed against one wall, but most of the space was full of books and newspapers and boxes that Jordan suspected came from Haven PD’s evidence room.

The wall was papered with newspaper clippings and photos and pages from books, some typed and some handwritten. All over, there were pictures of Audrey.  
Jennifer spun slowly, her eyes tracking the pieces of yarn that connected bits of information. Jordan was too overwhelmed to read any of it, so she just watched as Jen took it all in.

“These are all—”  
“Everyone Audrey’s been,” Dwight said. “As many as we could keep track of, and everything she and the people who helped her gathered while she was in Haven. Killing someone she loves is the only answer anyone has found. This… this is our only hope,” Dwight said.

“It’s all so... old,” Jordan said, studying a clip about a Spanish Flu outbreak from over a hundred years ago.

“It’s all we have,” Dwight said again.

Jennifer was still looking, but her eyes were narrowed as if someone had presented her with a very intense math problem she wasn’t sober enough to answer. “Maybe what we need is something new,” She said slowly.

“What are you talking about?” Dwight asked.

“I’m not normal. My trouble didn’t start the normal way, I’m connected to Haven, to the barn… Jordan it’s like we said earlier. I’m something different—”

“How much have you had to drink?” Dwight asked, glancing between them.

“Lots,” Jennifer said, flicking his question away with her hand. “Never mind that. You said you tracked the Audrey angle as far as you could and came to killing Nathan, maybe we need a new angle.”

“And you’re the new angle?” Dwight asked skeptically.

“Why shouldn’t she be?” Jordan asked sharply. “She’s right about the barn and the weird stuff.”

“It’s worth looking into, is all I’m saying,” Jennifer said. “While we’re waiting around for Nathan to charm the pants off of Lexie.”

Jordan snorted.

“I’m a journalist,” Jennifer went on, “I can work this, research—”  
“Yourself?” Dwight asked.

Jennifer shrugged. “I’m adopted; there are things I don’t know about me, things that might give us new answers to the questions people here have been asking for hundreds of years. Maybe…”

“Maybe Audrey brings the troubles,” Jordan said, “And the barn pauses them, and you can end them.” Her breath was coming shorter and sharper, and her heart was fluttering just a little too fast.

“There’s nothing here that says that’s how it works,” Dwight pointed out, ever cautious, ever pragmatic.

God Jordan was so fucking sick of caution and strategy. “There’s nothing here that says that’s _not_ how it works.”

Dwight acknowledged that with a slight shrug. “Fine, you work that, I guess. Tell me if you come up with anything.”

“Wait, you as in us?” Jordan asked.

Dwight raised an eyebrow. “This is your idea.”

“It was _her_ idea,” Jordan said, pointing to Jennifer.

Dwight grinned a little, the closest to shit-eating he ever got. “And you’re looking out for her.”

Jennifer grabbed Jordan’s hand, taking her by surprise. Jordan’s heart stuttered; she could feel the warmth of Jennifer’s palm through her glove. “We can do this,” She said.

Her eyes were shining, bright excitement illuminating the dark brown into something fascinating. Jordan was caught, staring.

She believed her.

Hope was hard to have, and Jordan hadn’t in a long time, but Jennifer, with those bright eyes and the stubborn chin and her tiny, furious body looked like hope, and Jordan was ready to walk off a cliff for her after talking to her for an hour.

If there was a person on earth who could fix all of this—who could fix _Jordan_ —she figured that person would look the way Jennifer did right now.

And she didn’t think it was the alcohol talking.

“I’m in.” 


End file.
